


Adventures of A Detective and The Noirette!

by Geeky_Mind



Series: Adventures of A Detective and the Noirette! [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26438977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geeky_Mind/pseuds/Geeky_Mind
Summary: After months Sherlock comes across an interesting case, only to be informed that he wasn’t allowed to investigate the case anymore. He didn’t need to look at ‘the woman’ leading the team to know that he hated her. He had no idea she was the key all along and would change not only his present but his future.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Harry Potter
Series: Adventures of A Detective and the Noirette! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921897
Comments: 2
Kudos: 139





	Adventures of A Detective and The Noirette!

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.
> 
> It is obvious that many things have been changed according to my story, but many things are the same as the BBC’s Sherlock. I’ve changed some events accordingly and I’ll let you know as we go forward.
> 
> Sherlock’s thoughts are written in Italics.
> 
> William Sherlock Scott Holmes/Helena Euphemia Potter
> 
> I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance. Please do not copy this story anywhere.

** **

** Then **

** July 2009 **

Sherlock glared hatefully at the woman who had swiftly taken over his crime scene.

_The man was in his mid-30’s, tall, relatively muscular, jet black hair suffered a heart attack. He was evidently surprised when his visitor attacked him, for the element of surprise was still written all over his face. The man, Marcus Flint wasn’t wearing shoes but there was a speck of mud on the carpet which the imbeciles of Scotland Yard missed. It had rained a day before and the killer didn’t care if she left her footprints behind. She had been invited in, but what made the case thrilling was the door. All the door and windows had been locked from inside when they found the body. There were no signs of anyone leaving and there was no way to escape, so how did the murderer escape?_

It was one of the most interesting and baffling cases he had come across in a long time and he had been thrilled to see that no one… none of the idiots could see that it was murder and not a heart-failure as they’d so thoughtfully concluded.

It wasn’t their fault; everyone was an idiot.

But his excitement was crushed when George waved the ‘government documents’ in his face and informed him that they had been asked to hand over the case to ‘the woman and her team’.

_She had stormed in with a team of four people, three of whom were wearing the same coat as hers. They worked for the same department, not the one he’d heard about before. Part of a secret organisation. In her late 20’s, black hair tied in side-braid, vivid green eyes. Wearing black trousers, white blouse and a brown trench coat like her team – dress code. Stance easy-going, but holding herself much like a soldier. Ordering her team, so the head, then. Well respected. Dangerous. Athletic built of someone who plays sports of some kind regularly…_

He noticed Anderson fumbling around her like an idiot, so that meant she was fairly attractive and refrained himself from rolling his eyes. She was talking to George, discussing any evidence they might’ve found, while her team surveyed the area.

_The bushy-haired woman, on the other hand, wasn’t wearing the same brown coat but had accompanied the team, so maybe a consultant or an expert of some kind? Not a doctor. Their expressions at seeing the dead body convinced him that they knew the man. Maybe in passing? Certainly not a friend._

Sherlock was dimly aware of his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he ignored it. It was Mycroft, nothing important. He focused on the newcomers, knowing he was missing something and he narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the two.

“Didn’t you hear? You’re not needed here anymore, freak.” Sally voiced quite unnecessarily.

He disregarded her as usual, his focus was on the woman, who stopped talking and turned to look at them. Her eyes met his and she frowned, looking confused but suddenly her eyes widened and she blinked a couple of times. She shook her head before turning back to George and nodded at whatever he was saying. Seconds later, she made her way towards him. Their eyes remain locked and she looked at him as if solving a puzzle, but finally, she turned and looked at Sally.

“Agent Potter.” She introduced herself with a smile which didn’t reach her eyes.

“Sergeant Sally Donovan.” Donovan shook her hand.

“Forgive me Sgt Donovan, but I don't quite understand. What did you mean by ‘freak’?” The woman asked curiously.

“A bit of advice? Stay away from him.” She nodded towards Sherlock, unbothered that he was standing right beside her. “He’s a nut job. Doesn’t even get paid, just get off from seeing dead bodies. Just a freaking creep with no friends.”

Sherlock huffed and turned around, ready to leave when her next words forced him to turn back.

“Is that it?” the woman hummed thoughtfully. Her eyes never left Donovan’s as she asked, “And what about you? Aren’t you the one having an affair with a married man?”

“Well yeah, but he’s there to get me off, you know? It’s not like I’m in love with him or something. His wife is stupid and he’s a convenient lay.” Sally replied monotonously like she was in a trance. Then, she blinked and her eyes widened as she looked around horrified. Everyone had stopped to stare at her, while Anderson had turned red with barely restrained fury.

“What did you do to me? You’re a freak too, aren’t you? Get away from me!” She accused scathingly.

The woman merely arched an eyebrow and said, “Are you saying I somehow coerced you in saying… all of that in front of everyone?” Her tone clearly stating that merely the idea was ludicrous, but Sherlock knew better. He had known Sally for more than a year now and he knew she wasn’t the one to spill the beans to a stranger. There was something in the ‘tone’, something that forced Sally to speak the truth without care, but what was it? Did the woman somehow hypnotise Sally? It was utterly ridiculous, so what other explanation could there be?

With a glare, Sally turned to leave but was stopped by the woman.

“Sergeant Donovan?”

Sally met her eyes with a scowl but didn’t speak.

“The next time you decide to disparage him, I want you to remember that he does have a friend.”

Sally shot the two a look of sheer revulsion and then stormed… somewhere, not that it mattered. He, then turned to stare at the woman like she was the odd one, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. He didn’t know her and he had never had a ‘friend’. This woman, Helena Potter, had insulted Sally and told her that ‘he had a friend’. What did that mean? Was she implying that they were friends?

He frowned inwardly, but his expressions remained static as she asked sharply, “Are we?”

She looked confused so he clarified impatiently, “Friends! You implied to Sergeant Donovan that we’re friends! So, are we?”

“Of course, we are, Captain!” She replied without hesitation as he was stupid to even ask.

He didn’t reply but couldn’t stop the surprise that crossed his face, though he schooled his features just as fast and gazed at her abrasively before deducing, “In your late twenty's, about 5'7 in height, around 8 stones, never married, own a dog. Old indents on your nose from glasses mean you had poor eyesight but had them removed not long ago. Slight hint of Scottish accent indicates that you spent a fair amount of time there, possibly at the private boarding school you attended with your team. Trying to hide the mark on your forehead with front hair which you got from an accident you had when young, possibly 1 or 2 where you lost both your parents. Your guardians didn’t like you, possibly only kept you because someone was paying them, which clearly states that you come from old money or they wouldn’t have cared. You were abused as a child until you left your guardians house. Your stance is too rigid to be a commoner, you hold yourself like a soldier and you’ve fought in a war. You’re far too young to be the head of a secret government organisation, but you’re well respected which means you did something big to win this war. You do not have a gun, but then how would that work? No… there has to be something else. A weapon much more powerful hidden under your sleeve. Slender enough to go unnoticed, but easy to be used within a moments notice. A stick…?”

He stared down at her coldly, waiting for a response, but whatever he had been expecting, this wasn’t it.

“That… was brilliant.”

The reply stunned him so much that he didn’t know how to respond. Never had anyone told him what he did was good. He searched her face and body language for any signs of trick, but couldn’t find anything deceiving. If anything, she looked… pleased? But why? His eyes snapped around to look at the other woman and was relieved to notice the familiar expression of bewilderment. Gavin was rolling his eyes at him, Anderson and Sally were having their domestic, nothing new there. This… this was something he understood… people cursing him or being in awe of him, but Miss Potter’s reaction caught him off-guard.

He looked back at the woman feeling unsettled for some reason, noting for the first time how vividly green her eyes were and asked dubiously, “You really think so?”

“Absolutely. It was undeniably exceptional.”

There was a thick bout of silence which was broken by Mrs Granger. She cleared her throat unnecessarily, gaining the attention of the two and introduced herself, “Hermione Granger.”

She held her hand out, but he made no move, and stated aloofly, “Sherlock Holmes.”

She frowned but ignored him, turning towards Helena and whispered, “Uhh… Elle? We’re done here.”

His nose wrinkled in disgust at the horrid nickname, but he chose not to comment, instead asked sharply, “You figured the reason behind his death?”

“Yes, he had a heart attack.” She replied casually, too casually, making him smile like a cat who ate the canary.

_‘Not a good liar.’_ His mind supplied. _She knew the man was murdered but was lying to keep him off the case. What kind of organisation did they work for? How hadn’t he heard about it before? If he wasn’t wrong, these people already knew who the murderer was and how he escaped._

“How is your husband?” He asked deliberately, hoping to wire her up and smirked when she stiffened.

Hermione’s voice was low, as she asked through gritted teeth, “What?”

_‘Good observation skills as she already noticed his deduction of her friend and is now, wary. Marvellous!’_

Eyes glinting with delight, he fired, “Not a genius, but a scholar; the best student in your class, possibly the entire school, which is where your confidence comes from. Your stance isn’t as rigid, but you too were a fighter, so you fought in the same war. You work for the same secret organisation, but in a different branch since you were allowed to accompany them, but are not a part of the team. You knew the man who was murdered and it all is somehow connected to the boarding school in Scotland you attended together which not many know about. Roughly married for 8 years now. You fought with your husband this morning. In fact, it’s a fairly common occurrence possibly because you believe he’s having an affair. You’ve been friends with Helena for a long time now, but you didn’t tell her because you feel guilty about something…”

He pondered for a bit before adding, “Hermione, a classical name suggests a middle-class background, both your parents were dentists and were killed because you were a vital figure in the war.”

He ignored Miss Potter who was staring anxiously towards Hermione, who stiffened considerably at the mention of her parents. She cast a glance at her friend before her eyes met his and she covered her right arm with her left one unintentionally.

“Ah…” he mumbled as his smile became more pronounced.

“You became a part of this war because of your… friendship with Helena. Your parents were murdered, possibly by the same person who tortured you. You feel guilty because you still blame her for the death of your parents. Your husband was involved and was just as important. You’re already having issues in your married life which is why you don’t want to involve her. You use the same weapon like the others and it’s in the right pocket of your jeans because your fingers are itching to use them on me right now.”

“Am I wrong?” he asked arrogantly, ignoring the way both of them paled considerably. He looked at the two beseechingly and demanded, “Now, how did the killer escape?”

He was startled when Helena practically jumped between him and her friend, partially because he was more focused on the way the brown hair had somehow managed to become bushier within the last minute or so, and his eagerness to see ‘the super-secret weapon’ which Hermione would’ve pulled if it hadn’t been for Helena.

He looked down, glowering at the back of Helena’s head at the interruption and ignored whatever the two were whispering. But he did notice Hermione’s slumped posture as she nodded at something before throwing a dirty look at him and whirled around to leave.

“Your husband is not having an affair, but that can change seeing as you keep fighting with him because of your insecurities.” He called, earning another glare.

Finally, he looked at Helena, only to find her looking at him with a look that screamed ‘disappointment’.

“What?” he asked puzzled. “I did inform her that her husband isn’t having an affair, didn’t I?”

She shook her head, but her lips twitched upwards in half a smile, confusing him even further.

He leaned forward, closer to her, lowered his head, looked right into her eyes and asked, “You called me ‘captain’. How…?”

She took a step back, away from him and stated earnestly, “It was good to see you, Sherlock.”

He looked around and noticed that her team wasn’t there anymore and the idiots of Yard were clearing the area. With one last look at her, he rushed in the apartment, only to find the body and all traces of evidence gone.

_How?_

He screamed at the top of his lungs, scaring everyone around him, before rushing out, but to no avail. He couldn’t find anyone.

* * *

Later, much later when he was slumped on his sofa, he closed his eyes and thought back to her reaction. His lips twitched upwards and he smiled. He will figure out the secret of one Helena Potter and her team.

* * *

** Now **

** October 2015 **

“How is he?” John asked Mrs Hudson, who shook her head, looking ready to cry and said, “I even made his favourite biscuits. They’ve gone stale and he didn’t even touch them! He’s still lying there.”

John sighed tiredly while Mary hugged Mrs Hudson. He lifted the grocery bag and darted upstairs, mentally preparing himself for what he had to do. He couldn’t let it go like this any longer. The man hadn’t been out of the house since… not even to the funeral. He hadn’t refused to take a case outright, but the last time he had bought a case in hope to get his friend out of this stinky room, he had refused to reply or move. John had never seen Sherlock like this before and truth be told, the behaviour was worrying all of them.

He opened the door and came to an abrupt halt when he saw the man was curled on the floor in the shape of a ball. He had always wondered how a man of his size could fit in a chair from head to toe. Right now, though he couldn’t help the heaviness that filled him at the sight of him. It wasn’t unusual to see Sherlock like this, especially since… He shook his head, halting his train of thoughts.

Dropping the grocery bags by the door, he rushed forward, determined to make him eat something, but inhaled sharply when he turned Sherlock on his front. The man was unkempt and John wasn’t sure when was last time he took a bath. His hair was greasy and he was wearing the same dressing gown he had been wearing a week ago. But what alarmed him was his friends trembling form. He was supporting a beard and had prominent dark circles under his eyes. Despite knowing what he will find, he rolled Sherlock’s sleeve up and found numerous injection marks which had turned black by now.

“Dear God!” Mary gasped.

His own eyes widened as dread filled him and he shouted, “Mary! Call the ambulance!”

“Already did!” Mary replied as she skidded to a halt beside him.

“Sherlock! Sherlock!”

John slapped his cheeks.

“Come on, damn it! Answer me!”

“I’ve already lost a friend! I’m not ready to lose the other! Please!” He begged.

Sherlock opened his eyes and squinted up at him. John sighed with relief, but it was short-lived because the first world out of his friend’s mouth made him tear-up.

Mary rubbed his back, while she kept her eyes on the broken man lying on the floor. It wasn’t long before two paramedics rushed in along with Mycroft, who stared at his brother sadly before stating softly, “She’s always had an extreme effect on Sherlock.”

John glared at Mycroft and snapped, “What the bloody hell are you on about?”

Mycroft shook his head but didn’t reply. He left along with the medics and Sherlock to Barts within seconds. John took a shuddering breath and let Mary comfort him, hugging her tightly. He couldn’t imagine his life without his wife and son and he didn’t think he would be able to live if something happened to the two of them.

He looked around for the last time and shuddered at the state of the room. A mug full of coffee was lying on the table which had gone cold. An uneaten sandwich was lying in a plate on a stack of books. As always, books, papers, newspapers and whatnot were scattered all over the room but the worst part were Helena’s belongings – a coat, scarf, shoes, her broomstick was still standing in a corner, the book she had been reading was still lying open on the floor beside the couch, her small emergency purse, a lot of her wizarding newspapers was lying beside the window, her dirty teacup was still on the kitchen counter like it had been months ago where she had left them before...

He picked the picture lying on the floor where Sherlock had been and sighed wistfully. The picture that had been on the mantle for at least 2 years now where she had place it just to spite Sherlock. Helena and Teddy were smiling at the camera, whereas Sherlock was pouting. The two had dragged Sherlock out to the wizard’s market and he had sulked for 3 days straight because she had refused to let him sneak into the bank to see ‘the dragon’. It was a nice day.

John huffed a laugh, wiping his eyes with the back oh his hand and kept it back on the mantle.

Sherlock had refused to move anything himself. He had thrown the first thing he got his hands on Ron’s head when the man tried to pick them up and he had insulted Hermione, making her cry quite intentionally.

John’s eyes landed on a yellow scarf with black stripes on it still lying on the back of a chair and he rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He hadn’t been sure how to talk to Sherlock after her death. He wasn’t in a state to take care of a teenager, so it had been decided that the Weasley’s would take care of Teddy. The kid was in his final year at Hogwarts and needed a stable home. So, Hermione and Ron took Teddy’s belongings as he was to go back to school in September. Although Sherlock never said a word about Teddy, John knew that losing the kid affected his friend as well. Despite Helena threatening them, the two used to sneak out to solve cases, for God’s sake!

John wasn’t sure what Mycroft meant, but he did agree that Helena had bought out the most emotions in the man… to an extent and such fierce emotions, that it had surprised him and everyone who knew Sherlock Holmes. He still couldn’t understand the reason behind Sherlock’s bout of possessiveness when it came to Helena even when they had just met, but he had always known it wasn’t normal. He loved his wife fiercely, but Mary would have his head if he forced her to wear his ‘scarf’ just to make sure ‘the idiots of Scotland Yard stayed away’. Helena had humoured him, but later, he was seen supporting pink hair that stayed for more than a week.

It wasn’t his fault if he had kept some pictures of pink-haired Sherlock and Teddy for blackmail purpose. In the end, Helena got it portrayed and hung it in her living room, much to Sherlock’s dismay.

He felt Mary’s hand sliding into his and he nodded before leaving 221B, closing the door behind him. As they hailed a taxi for Barts, he couldn’t help but wonder what Sherlock was going through – living with the guilt that he unknowingly caused the death of his fiancée; the only person he loved was killing him and John wasn’t sure if his friend would be able to come out of it or not.

* * *

Someone was calling his name and Sherlock blinked up to see a blurry John saying something. He looked around, his fingers flexing, trying to find his source of comfort, but it wasn’t there. He tried to call ‘her’ but wasn’t sure how successful he was with his brain feeling fuzzy and mouth filled with cotton. He closed his eyes again, knowing he would find her there.

He allowed her melodic voice to pull him under again and closed his eyes, only to find her leaning over him when he opened them again.

His hands automatically went around her waist as he pulled her closer, mindful of her stomach.

She leaned down to kiss him and he was only happy to oblige.

One of his hand cupped her face as he tangled his tongue with hers, earning a soft moan. The other went inside her loose blouse and he trailed his fingers up and down her spine, delighted by the fact that it made her shiver.

She pulled back too early for his liking, but she smiled at him. Her green eyes were shining with love for him and he smiled back, unconsciously playing with the ends of her hair.

John had been right. No matter how much he hated the word, he was indeed ‘whipped’.

He rubbed her belly and felt a fluttering movement under his hand.

She grimaced, but he grinned.

He couldn’t wait to meet his child.

Their child.

“I love you, Mrs Helena Holmes.” He murmured against her lips.

He felt her smile as she whispered, “We love you too, daddy.”

* * *

September 13th, 2020

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up… Sherlock isn't dead!
> 
> So, as a person with an average IQ and a person who’s NOT a genius, I gave this fic and its characters a lot of thought. Now, some people might not agree with Sherlock’s reactions, but I think his reaction to the death of his fiancée and unborn child would be extreme. Here, she has been in his life for more than 5 years, a true companion and they were engaged. He shared not only emotional but a physical connection/bond with her, so obviously he was deeply attached to Helena as she had been there for him through everything and every situation like no one else had. They were deeply in love. In the end, I came to 2 conclusions – 1) either he would delete them from his mind palace, or 2) he would lose himself. Frankly, the 2nd option seemed more plausible when it comes to BBC’s Sherlock.
> 
> I figured that since he hadn’t met John here, so Sherlock is even more apathetic towards human emotions.
> 
> Now, many things are missing here, but I’ve left those deliberately. If you’re a Harry Potter and Sherlock fan, you’ll solve the pieces together. (Others will be revealed, in case I continued this.)
> 
> Do let me what you think of the story and the characters in general? Especially Sherlock. He’s possibly the toughest character I’ve ever written. Also, do let me know if you’d like to read more of this story. 
> 
> Meanwhile, I’m working on my other works as well, which are NOT ABANDONED!
> 
> Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.


End file.
